Gin and Bitterness

Fandom: Les Miserables
Rating: G
Characters: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire
Primary Pairings: Combeferre/Jean Prouvaire
Word Count: 1373 

General Summary: Combeferre offers an at-his-wit's-end Jean Prouvaire the use of his private reading room, and Jehan happily accepts. To both men's surprise, everything else just sort of falls into place.

Author’s Note: My half of an art trade that I wrote in June 2013.


Combeferre had not planned on this when he first offered the use of his sitting room to Jean Prouvaire. They had been, as they often were, in the back room of the Café Musain when he had overheard the poet in conversation with Courfeyrac, complaining of too much noise outside of his rooms making it impossible to focus. He had, almost surprising himself as much as them, smoothly interjected and offered the use of his sitting room.

“It’s quite well-lit,” he had heard himself explaining, “and quiet – my rooms are very out of the way.”

He had ignored Courfeyrac’s questioning eyebrow in favour of the way that Jehan’s grin seemed to take up half his face, and the way that his delicate fingers played with his cravat as he thanked him and inquired as to the address and what times would be acceptable for him to visit. Combeferre had simply said that his door was open to him any time that he was home, and Jehan had beamed at him before leaving him and Courfeyrac to hold court with Enjolras as was the usual procedure after a meeting.


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Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Rating: M
Setting: Dark Dog Days universe
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade
Primary Pairings: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Word Count: 2407

General Summary: Mycroft had only planned to go out hunting; taking a lover was certainly not on his agenda.

Author’s Note: This piece was written for my collaborator after we had discussion about something we thought Mycroft did when he was bored as a young man at university. It was originally posted to Tumblr on 17 January 2012.


Mycroft was on the hunt. He had slipped away, as he was wont to do, and had taken the night for himself. The deceptively inexpensive and currently jacketless suit that he wore in place of his usual expensively tailored one made for an appearance that would have unsettled anyone who knew him. However, he added mentally, carefully rolling his shirt cuffs over his forearms, the small of his back pressed uncomfortably against the edge of the bar, they’ll never know, will they?

The hunt, as he had come to affectionately call it, was something that he had begun to do while at university, at least partially out of boredom. He would dress up, catch a cab to a bar that he had scoped out weeks in advance, and don the mask of a bored barfly. From there it was simply a matter of choosing a target and playing the game. Rather than make the first move, the game required that he slip inside his target’s brain and figure out what would induce them to make a move on him.